


Seventeenth Christmas

by tatooedlaura



Series: Christmas [18]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: Sighing inwardly, she took the tools from his hands and set them down, reaching for his fingers, pulling him towards the steps, “we’ll come down and do them later, all right? We should get upstairs and turn the heat on and see what we can make for dinner. Have you seen all the snow?”





	Seventeenth Christmas

Opening up the front door, she had the overwhelming urge to turn around and go back to work. It was freezing inside, meaning Mulder hadn’t turned the heat up for the last two days and all she wanted was to be warm, the snow falling in heavy blankets outside, making her drive long and terrifying at times. Leaving her coat on but stepping out of her snow-caked boots from the unshoveled walk to the door, she headed in the direction of the basement, seeing Mulder’s office chair empty in the back room. Feeling the cold even more as she descended the stairs, her stocking feet were nearly numb by the time they hit the cold concrete floor. She found him assembling more metal shelving, stacks of racks, piles of screws, a level, hammer, tape measure, carefully folded empty cardboard shipping boxes surrounding him.

“Mulder?” When he didn’t react, she said his name a second and third time until he finally turned, giving her a gaunt look of someone thoroughly surprised to hear another human voice. “I just got home.”

He shook his head, confusion dissipating to familiarity, “Scully? I thought you had to work?”

“I did. I’m home again.” Moving forward, she put a hand under his arm, helping him stand, “why aren’t you wearing any shoes? Your feet must be frozen by now.”

Familiarity moved into recognition, his brain registering the cold, the dark of the room, “I wanted to put together the shelves. They got here this morning and I wanted to get the food and stuff stacked and cataloged before you got home.”

Sighing inwardly, she took the tools from his hands and set them down, reaching for his fingers, pulling him towards the steps, “we’ll come down and do them later, all right? We should get upstairs and turn the heat on and see what we can make for dinner. Have you seen all the snow?”

He followed her willingly, blindly, until they reached the top of the stairs, immediately darting to the windows, pulling blinds and drapes closed more than they already were, checking the back door as he passed, lock securely in place. Scully watched with sinking heart, her standard, involuntary response to seeing him like this.

While he made the rounds of the house, she padded to the thermostat and turned it up to 75, quaking at the cold of the 50 it was registering at the moment. Coming up behind her, he hugged her around the waist, “sorry I forgot about the heat. I forget things when you’re not here.”

Too tired and too sad to bring up, once again, the walk, the dishes, the unprepared meals she’d left in the freezer for him to make, she leaned her head against his shoulder, trying to absorb any ounce of heat he might be giving off. Not finding any, she slipped from his grasp to look at him, “are you hungry?”

“I think so.” Knowing he screwed up yet again, he kissed her cheek, “let me make dinner and you can go take a bath and warm up. I’m sorry I forgot about the heat. I just got caught up in everything downstairs.”

With a deeper sigh, she gave him an exhausted smile, “I would love just some soup and maybe grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“They’ll be ready when you get back down here.” Turning her, he scooted her towards the steps, “enjoy.”

&&&&&&&&

Sinking into the tub, she made it almost two minutes before crying, the tears overflowing without her consent, joining the steam and condensation on her cheeks. She did it quietly, sobbing too much effort, choosing to remain silent while she broke. So intent on not calling attention to herself, she didn’t hear Mulder open the bathroom door, slipping inside with half a sandwich and an apologetic look.

It wasn’t until he intentionally shuffled and sniffed lightly that she noticed him. For a brief, angry moment, she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, to let her be, to fix himself before he came in to ask if she was okay. Then, she saw him, taking in her demeanor, her snotty-nose, her red eyes and she fell apart again, this time not caring if he heard her, if he believed it was his fault, if he knew just how close she was to the end of her rope.

Putting the paper plate with the sandwich on the closed toilet seat, he pulled off his shirt, shimmied from his pants and without a word, climbed into the tub with her, pushing the water nearly to the top as he settled at her feet, knees folded under him, scooting gently between her legs until he was wedged against her ass holding her in place and her thighs vee’d over his. Leaning forward, he took the washcloth from the hanger and soaping it up, began running the smooth bubbles over her, starting from her collarbones and moving across shoulders, down arms, across to belly, up her ribs, under the soft swell of her breasts, over her nipples, down her breastbone. Into and back out of belly button, he moved the cloth down her thighs, past her knees, over shin, ankle and sole, back up outside of leg, slipping over hips, moving to her center, cupping, rubbing gently.

Her eyes were shut by now, stupid, involuntary responses being what they were and Mulder knowing her better than she did herself, he let the cloth drift away, using his hands to rinse her, moving one handful of water at a time over her, rinsing as he slipped palm along skin. Once she was thoroughly bubble free, he shifted his hand lower once again, thumb running over clit, providing her unique pressure, the amount that made her suck in breath over teeth, through tightened lips, rolled tongue to make her lungs rise, pushing her breasts fully out of the water. Sliding his other hand under the water as well, he swam one finger, then two, slowly into her, taking his time, her time, their time, to begin moving.

She felt him growing hard against her but she didn’t mention and he didn’t ask, knowing this was her moment and speeding up slightly, water splashed over the sides of the tub, rhythmic puddles forming, her small hands gripping the rounded edges of the porcelain tub, grasping for a handhold as her muscles began tightening, her thighs gripping his hand, her eyes closed as she bucked against him, coming around him, whimpering for him to go harder, faster even as she fell back to Earth, her unremarkable house, her bathtub, herself.

Complying as best he could, she came a second time, louder and angry, the stream of unintelligible words flowing from her, her head snapping back into the tile wall with a thud that made him stop suddenly, concern removing his fingers, his body from the tub, standing to lean over her, hands on her shoulders, “Scully? Are you okay?”

Batting his hands away, she stood, ignoring her instant headache, soapy water streaming from her, as she took his hand, “come on.”

Soon, she was hanging onto the headboard as if her life depended on it, Mulder behind her, answering her calls for more with everything he had, the wood support banging against the wall, bed springs emitting a grating high-pitch squeak, knees sticking to soaked sheets, hands looking for purchase against her hips only to have her push back against him so hard, he lost his precarious hold.

Finally, he came just as she did, her muscles pulling everything from him until he finally, finally had to stop, fear of passing out pausing him moments before Scully unclenched her fingers from the battered headboard and collapsed on her side, leaving Mulder hanging for a second before he settled back on his heels, breathing hard.

Meeting her gaze, green eyes locked to blue, he gave her a serious look, “what was that?”

“Us, Mulder. That was us.”

“We don’t usually do angry sex, Scully.”

She blinked at him slowly, collecting her wits and feeling the throbbing more and more at the back of her skull, “that wasn’t angry sex, Mulder. That was me … letting it go.”

Knowing not to push it, knowing he needed a light spin to keep things from spiraling downward, he gave her his best leer, “well, next time, maybe let it go a little less so you can avoid a concussion.”

And she gave him a smile that melted his heart and froze his insides.

He’d missed something along the way.

He just didn’t know what.

&&&&&&&&&&&

But by time they were dried, dressed and eating their now re-heated soup and fresh sandwiches, Scully was curled beside him, settled deep in the couch, wool socks warming and blankets heavy on their laps, “when do you want to decorate for Christmas. I know it’s still a few weeks but I have tomorrow and Saturday off so maybe we can do it one of those days?”

She felt back to normal, back to Scully, and he relaxed beside her, the air around them soft and uncharged, warm and sweet. Kissing the top of her head, “tomorrow will be good. Right after I shovel the walk and driveway and finish the laundry.”

Feeling almost ashamed at her earlier actions, she offered her last bite of sandwich to him, “how about I deal with in here and you deal with trash and outside and we’ll bring everything from the attic after lunch?”

Taking her offered food, “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“You’ve got to stop confusing me with Stan.”

&&&&&&&&&

They fell asleep on the couch eventually, after she watched Mulder clearing dishes, peering out windows, commenting on the foot of snow now layered outside before going through his night routine, the routine Scully didn’t comment on and Mulder didn’t skip. Once back beside her, doors having been checked, phones moved, office door firmly closed against things Scully didn’t want to think about, Mulder cuddled her in his arms, “I put in ‘Die Hard’ ‘cause it’s almost Christmas and I know the soft spot you have for Bruce Willis and Alan Rickman.”

Finally, an unobtrusive, uncorrupted, uninhibited laugh emerged from her, “we are very weird people, Mulder.”

“And I love us.”

Hours later, after also watching ‘Die Hard 2’, Scully woke from a sound sleep to the sounds of clinking metal. First response to strange noises was still reaching for her gun but a moment later, her eyes dropping in concession, she stood, stepped into her slippers and moved down the basement steps, stopping at the bottom, “Mulder?”

He was on his last set of shelves, the basement now looking more like a big-box grocery store than anything else. Surveying the stacks of canned goods and gallons of water, the cases of batteries and flashlights and blankets and all other manner of survival gear, she sat down on the last step, waiting a moment until he looked over at her, “did I wake you?”

Pulling her lips just a little tighter over her teeth as she presented him with a small smile, “no. I was just going to the bathroom and heard you. Couldn’t sleep?”

“I just wanted to get these done, then I can put the rest of the supplies and see how much room we have left. See what else we can fit down here.” Not noticing the resignation surrounding her, “gotta be ready, Scully. They’ll come back. They’ll come back and find us and we’ll be on our own and we need to be prepared.”

“They’re not coming back, Mulder.”

He presented things so honestly, so thoughtfully, so clearly that she so wanted to believe, to understand, “the government is still watching us, Scully. They’re still out there, keeping track. I’ve read things that would make you never want to leave the house again. I know you don’t want to hear them but they’re there and I need to get us ready for them. I need to take care of you. I need to keep you safe.”

The sincerity in his words, so earnest and caring that, with a veiled sigh, she stood, approaching him, “would you like some help?”

His eyes lit up, “of course.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Next morning, after spending most of the night assembling and inventorying in the basement, both fell asleep in bed, collapsing on clean sheets after 4am. Scully only woke up when the heavenly scent of Hazelnut coffee hit her nose, eyes slowly opening, bones quietly creaking as she sat up, “you brought me coffee in bed?”

“Yup.” First, he handed the mug to her, then a small gift he pulled from behind his back, “and your first Christmas gift.”

One long sip later, she set the cup down and picked up the box, “I haven’t found yours yet.”

With a shrug, “it’s okay. Two shopping weeks left.”

Feeling much more right with the world, even on four hours sleep, she tore into the paper, finding a silver bulb ornament, black script telling her ‘Don’t Give Up’.

The tears pooled and fell in an instant, dropping on the ornament and giving her away. Mulder immediately tipped her chin up, critical, investigative, inquisitive look abounding, “please, Scully, tell me what’s wrong?”

She could do this. She could do this on her own. She knew he’d never go talk to a stranger, a therapist, someone whom he didn’t know and would never trust with more than his name and possibly his real age. She could get him medications, they could sit and talk things out, she could be his sounding board, he would talk to her about things if she pushed him and he would listen to her if she was convincing enough. They could figure this out together, like they always had and always would.

Reaching up, she cupped his face, thumbs settled in the dent on his chin, pulling him towards her until he finally had to drop to his knees, “will you talk to me? About all those things in your beautiful brain that you never share. I don’t like living like I’m going to have to run again at a moment’s notice, I don’t like feeling like everyone and everything is out to get me. I’ve done the paranoia thing, Mulder and just like the darkness, I don’t want to do it anymore … I can’t do it anymore. I love you so much but I can’t survive if I’m prisoner in my own house.”

His innocent look made her eyes fill, “but I’m doing it for us. Things are going to happen, Scully, terrible things and we need to be ready for them. I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing here, for them to know that we’re preparing. If I leave here, they’ll track me and see that I’m going to the store and they’ll know what I’m buying and they’ll think I’m in contact with the colonists and they’ll come here and they’ll take you again and …”

She stopped him, thumbs moving to lips, “Mulder …”

“Scully. I know what I’m doing and I know what’s going to happen. We’ve been inoculated but no one else has. You’ll see. Next December, you’ll see and then you’ll be grateful for everything I’ve been doing here.”

So convinced of himself that she felt her resolve caving, knowing that what she said next might possibly be the worst possible thing for him but not able to stop, “how about we make a deal? You tell me everything and I mean everything and I will … I will help us get ready.”

Astonishment didn’t begin to describe how he looked, “after Christmas. I’ll tell you everything and then we’ll get going.” Pulling her into a hug, “but first, we need to go set up the tree.”

Knowing she’d follow him anywhere, she slid off the bed, trailing out to the attic access in the hall, “Mulder, one more thing.”

“What?”

“Can you promise me that we will consult on everything for the preparations? No buying things without talking to one another?”

Just happy to have her onboard, “of course. I’ll need you to buy the guns anyways and those are gonna be the biggest things.”

And the darkness fell.


End file.
